Three Cheers for Sweet Insanity
by er-du-ekkel
Summary: A multi-chapter fluffy Malec AU featuring insane!Magnus and rebel!Alec. Set in a small town in Southern United States, 3054. In a world where anything other than government standards is punishable by death, how does one find themselves? This is the story of a man, his illness, and the boy who changed his life.
1. Chapter 1

In·sane

(in – sān)

_Adjective_

In a state of mind that prevents normal perception, behavior, or social interaction; seriously mentally ill.

That's what I was to them. Crazy. A freak. But I'm not. I know I'm not.

Insanity was the cold hands that rose like Death in the middle of the night to grab at your mind, pulling you into the depths of the darkness of which they came. It was the knowledge that you were long gone, but your mind could do nothing about it; it was only left with the mangled, twisted thoughts which the hands left it with. It is the straight denial of everything that is the norm, while in the back of your head the real you was screaming and pounding against the walls of its prison.

You see, I'm not insane, or crazy, or even a freak. I was just born like this. It's even pretty common these days. I know this, and I understand. These people around me- they don't understand.

I stare at the walls. White. At the furniture. White. At the ceiling. White. It's as if they bleached the entire building. What is with all the white? I'm not crazy- but this white sure is making me crazy.

There is a soft knock on the door. I sigh and stand, glancing down at the clothes they gave me- white, imagine that- and opening the door slowly. I put on a Cheshire-grin, widening my eyes. Hey, they already think I'm bonkers, why not amuse myself a little?

There is a Healer on the other side of the door. She has light blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. She has too much mascara on. "There is someone here to see you." She doesn't say anything else, just turns to look down the hallway, nods at someone I can't see, and walks away. I decide I don't like her.

In the time it took whoever it was to walk down the hallway and place themselves in front of me, I came to three realizations:

One- you can't trust anybody.

Two- Sometimes, silence is golden.

And finally: Some voices are better forgotten.

My worst fears, locked in the filing cabinet of my mind, are suddenly torn through my head in a whirlwind of emotions when the man I thought I'd killed appears in my doorway.

My name is Magnus Bane.

And I am not insane.


	2. Chapter 2

_Six Months Previously _

I am sleeping. Am I? Am I asleep, or dead? What is death? Questions race through my mind as I try to figure out what's going on. A hand is on my shoulder, shaking me. I'm on the ground. How did that happen? Where was I in the first place? Oh God, my stomach hurts.

I finally find the strength to force my eyes open. My pupils are met with unnatural light- I can almost feel them getting smaller. I roll my head to the side to see a pair of black dress shoes, and then my instructor's face.

"Alexander? Alexander, are you alright?" His voice barely reaches me before I am covered in darkness once more.

You know that feeling when you're swimming, and you're underwater, or you're at the top of a rollercoaster- the breath leaves your lungs and your stomach drops, leaving an empty hole in its place- that is what I feel right now, tenfold. It's as if someone took a knife and is digging through my stomach, trying to cut me open, empty my insides until I'm nothing more than a hollow shell, a shadow of who I am.

I don't know how long I drift like that, aware that I'm in danger but unable to do anything about it- it could have been minutes, hours, days even. When I do resurface from the ocean of darkness, it's all at once. It's not like waking up in the morning, gradual and nice- no, it's with a sharp kick to the side from a steel-toe combat boot.

"Get up, you little shit, we can't lug you around all day," a voice says above me. As my eyes adjust, I am hauled roughly to my feet. A man stands in front of me. He is tall and lean, but he is strong, you can tell that much. He has dark, emotionless eyes set in a caramel-colored, scarred face, and dark brown cropped hair. He wears some sort of uniform: A black leather jacket run over with straps and buckles holding weapons in place, mostly blades. Two swords, and axe, a small one-handed scythe, and a handgun on his hip. I assume he has more in his pants and boots.

"What's your name, boy?" His voice cuts through my thoughts. I look at him blankly; my brain doesn't seem to want to work at the moment. He shakes me harshly. "I said, what is your name?"

I open my mouth to attempt to get something out- anything- when a softer voice speaks behind me. "Kano, stop torturing the prisoner. He's obviously still out of it. How much did you inject him with, anyway?" The voice sighs. "There are easier ways of learning things." There is a hand over my back pocket- um, excuse me- bet it's just taking my wallet out. I hear a soft chuckle. "Alexander Lightwood, nineteen years old, six foot two… from the city." There is a soft _clunk_ and a shuffling sound. "Well, Alexander, I think it's time we brought you to the Boss."

"No, please, I- I don't know!" Even I hear how pathetic my voice sounds. It's been hours. The first thing that happened when they lead me through that black-painted door, I don't even remember. I just remember pain.

But not the normal kind of pain, not the sting, not the burn, not the heavy feeling of a bruise- no, this is a new kind of pain.

This is the pain that you feel as you're passing from life to death, a mixture of fear and confusion and terrible memories that condense until they take on a physical form- this is agony.

My hands are chained above my head, my shirt gone, deep gashes criss-crossing my chest. My hair was hacked off roughly by a man with a machete- I can feel it brushing my jaw line. I am off the ground by a few inches, and no matter how hard I strain I just _can't reach._ I am starting to lose feeling in my hands. My pants are torn at the knees, a stab wound in each joint. Blood runs down my face from where my forehead was burned. Whip marks run all over my body- my back, my arms, my neck, my chest. My shoes have been discarded and _oh God _everything hurts. There is a deep burning sensation running through my veins, whatever they injected into my neck. I can't remember or even imagine anything more painful than this burn. It's as if the Devil himself has risen inside of me, lighting my veins and arteries and organs with his unholy fire; they say it burns hotter than any flame we have in our world, hotter than any star in the sky.

A man stands in front of me. Not a large man, not a menacing man- but a dangerous one. This is the face of evil. This is the face of death. This is the face that appears in every City child's nightmares.

This man has killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of City citizens. The leader of the Rebellion, they call him many names. But now, as he stands here in front of me digging through my mind for any sort of information, the only name I can think of for him is-

_Death_


End file.
